A New Breed
by lynx54321
Summary: My first effort at writing any sort of fan fiction. This story is set in the Temeraire world during the same timeframe as the books but my story will be set in North America. Five chapters and an appendix of dragons breeds so far. Will be very grateful for any feedback.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Canadian-American Border

December 1811

Achilles was banking steeply to starboard. Gliding on his wings without beating them gave the British marines on his back a clear shot as they descended on the petit-Chevalier below them. James brought up his musket, the stock settling familiarly against his shoulder and sighted down the barrel. Whilst the corps in Europe had begun the practice of using rifles on dragonback the preference in North America had shifted to the Brown Bess carbines popular among the infantry. Dragon to dragon firing was usually over less than a hundred yards and the extra range afforded by the rifle was less preferable against the carbines superior reloading speed. The loss of accuracy was largely made up for by the practice of patching their musket balls whilst loading and prolific training. Even from several hundred yards above the French dragon looked large, despite the name petit Chevaliers rarely weighed in at under eighteen tonnes. Achilles flew hundreds of yards up in the air, the ground below a uniform white due to the covering of snow. The only features were the North American pine trees which so vast on the ground seemed like match sticks to James eyes from his current vantage point. As Achilles descended closer the French heavyweight's crew became easier to make out on it's back, they were scrambling to turn their attention towards Achilles descent having previously been engaged with keeping off a Yellow Reaper's sniping attacks on its other side. A few stray shots began to ring out towards Achilles, all semblance of a unified volley flying in the face of the panic they no doubt felt at seeing the twenty ton dragon hurtling towards them.

"Fire!" Lieutenant Carr's voice rose above the rush of the wind and James pulled the trigger along with the other thirteen marines on Achilles' back. The recoil punched James' shoulder hard and the brief pall of smoke from the volley cleared almost instantly, dispersing in the wind allowing the marines to see the result of their volley, several Frenchmen had fallen on the Chevalier's back and already their bodies were being cut loose by others of it's crew, dropping from the sky limply. James waited for the command to reload but it didn't come, instead Carr boomed out the command to fix bayonets. James swallowed, he was no coward but the command could mean only one thing, they meant to board the French dragon. The order swiftly carried out he moved one hand to his carabiners ready to detach himself and steeled himself for what was for any marine the most challenging of any potential action they might need undertake. The Chevalier no doubt realised the danger it and it's crew were in and attempted to beat up further into the air, likely to attempt to engage with Achilles at close quarters rather than present it's back as a target for boarding. Captain Way and Achilles had pre-empted this course of action though and Achilles folded his wings to cover the remaining gap between the dragons at such speed that the marines were jerked off their feet and only their carabiners kept them attached to his back. As the dragons came together Achilles snapped his wings open and used his momentum to bring his great spiked tail round, hammering it into the Chevalier's ribs above the portside wing. The heavy blow stopped it in it's tracks no doubt winding the beast and this was all the respite the marines needed.

"Board!" James had barely regained his feet but moved to unlatch his carabiner the instant Carr opened his mouth, he was already pushing off as Achilles moved his bulk as close as possible to the Chevalier to allow the marines to make the jump as easily as possible. In mid-air it was impossible for the dragon to stay alongside for more than a second but this was enough time for seven of the marines to make it onto the Chevaliers back along with a pair of Achilles' officers, a further three marines jumped late as Achilles pulled away but were able to clip themselves to the Chevalier's harness on it's side, fortunately nobody jumped so late as to miss altogether. James landed heavily on both feet falling to his side from the impact and knocking a French marine's legs from under him, all this was secondary for him though to the singular need to attach his carabiner to the Chevalier's harness and avoid falling to the ground below. It was with great relief he latched the carabiner onto the first available bit of harness and felt the opening mechanism close tight, the danger of a long fall averted he raised his head to get his bearings.

The Chevalier's captain was staring back along it's spine, some half a dozen of his men remained between him and the nearest boarders and his dragon gave a great shake at his command attempting to dislodge anyone not already latched on. The action proved more disadvantageous for his own crew as they were also knocked off their feet by the motion and all the boarders had clipped themselves on and were therefore afforded a brief moment to right themselves once the shaking stopped rather than being immediately set upon. James had landed towards the middle of the Chevalier along with the bulk of the marines, the french dragons topcrew had already been thinned out by the volley but a good dozen frenchmen had drawn swords and moved quickly to fend off the boarders. In these close quarters the brown bess carbine proved its worth again. Space was at a premium on the dragon's back and the heavy musket made a brutal club when used in such close quarters. The French officers were armed with swords but the difficulty in balancing precluded any fancy swordplay and the dragons own marine contingent were armed with full length muskets and hadn't even fixed bayonets allowing the British marines to get in amongst them and reap havoc. James rose from his crouch as a French marine edged towards him snarling, the Frenchman swung his musket like a club which James ducked, as he rose he extended his right hand and smashed his musket's stock into the frenchman's face. The force of the blow sent both men off their feet and James took advantage of recovering first to hack through the man's carabiner strap with the sharpened edge of his bayonet, rising again he put his boot to the Frenchman who was now trying to rise also and was therefore sent screaming from the dragon's back. Breathing deeply, his breath clouding the cold air James took a moment to survey the dragon's back which made up their battlefield. Clare, Wood and another marine were nearer the rear of the dragon than himself and were holding off what was left of the french marines along with several bellmen who had attempted to come round from below to assist their comrades. A glance the other way showed Achilles' first and second lieutenants leading a pair of marines towards the French captain, swiftly unclasping and clipping their carabiners to different parts of the harness to remain secure as they moved forwards. They were cutting away the straps of several dead french marines as they went leaving only a pair of particularly large brutes left to watch their captain's back. Paterson the marine's medic was slightly nearer tending to Goss who was wounded, clasping his thigh as it gushed blood on the grey scales of the dragon's back. Large as the dragon was it's back was wide enough to allow no more than two or three men to fight abreast so James took the spare seconds he had to reload his musket. Taking a cartridge he used his body to shield his actions from the wind as he bit through the top of the greased paper cartridge, some of the gunpowder within was whisked away in the breeze regardless but no great amount. He then poured a small measure into the pan at the gun's firing mechanism before closing it and pushing the rest of the cartridge including the greater share of the powder and the musket ball itself into the barrel. The dragon lurched as James removed the ramrod from under the barrel and he barely kept his feet, recovering he rammed the remnants of the cartridge into the bottom of the barrel before replacing the ramrod. The entire process took less than fifteen seconds, a speed with which most British infantrymen would be pleased with on the ground. Looking back towards the dragon's head James cursed. One of the British officers was down and flopping limply against the dragon's side held on only by his carabiners and one of the marines had vanished altogether. The Captain had risen to assist his marines and the three now outnumbered their assailants who were further encumbered by the impossibility of killing the french Captain which would only send his dragon into a rage and doom them all. James therefore brought his musket up once more and took aim at the biggest of the French marines, the bearded brute was pushing back Roberts using his brute strength and longer musket to keep him at bay. Firing from one dragon's back to anothers was relatively simple as long as you didn't hit your own dragon's wing and no lightweights were harassing the opposing beast, hitting something was another matter though. Firing whilst actually on the opposition's back presented quite the opposite problem, he was probably only fifteen yards from the melee at the base of the Chevalier's neck so could be quite confident of hitting someone. However the frequent movement of the dragon through the air not to mention the rush of wind in his face made aiming much more difficult, he didn't afterall want to blow out the back of Roberts' head. The Chevalier had slowed it's flight, becoming more interested in trying to look back over it's shoulder after it's captain than returning to the rest of it's formation which would make a shot easier barring any sudden lurch or dive and James took advantage the moment Roberts stepped back leaving an opening for half a second, he pulled the trigger and once again felt the punishing thump in his shoulder as his weapon kicked back at him. The frenchman was much more inconvenienced though as the sound of the shot rung out the musket ball tore into his shoulder, from such close range it punched him off his feet and blew a spray of claret blood into the air. Roberts' didn't hesitate to press his advantage but stepped forwards to ram his bayonet into the exposed ribs of the other marine engaging Achilles' first lieutenant Davies. The captain now stood alone and faced with Roberts' bayonet and Davies' sword he reluctantly put up his own blade and was permitted to return to his seat.

Davies' sword remained at his neck but he was allowed to reassure the great dragon as he instructed it to turn to its starboard side and start making it's way towards British lines, now a captured prize. The marines at the rear of the Chevalier were organising the surrender of it's remaining crew so again James had a spare moment to himself. He was breathing deeply, the entire boarding had taken slightly less than a few minutes but with adrenaline pumping through his veins he felt like he'd run a marathon. The dragon was slowly beating it's way back to the covert at British held Halifax, looking back James could see the rest of the french formation, all smaller middleweights and lightweights withdrawing to their own lines, wings drooping no doubt for the loss of their formation leader. Achilles and his own formation were flying back towards their prize heads held high in good spirits. The capture of a french heavyweight would be a blow to the french and would put Achilles and his formation in good standing with their superiors. Roberts moved up to stand beside James breathing heavily also, they gazed together at Achilles. He was a mighty beast truly to their eyes. A twenty ton Chequered Nettle, he was heavily built and his gold coloured hide was speckled with brown patches. His tail was also built strongly and covered in low, small horns which made it a dangerous weapon and was the Chequered Nettle's defining feature. James and other marines had been assigned to Achilles several years ago and were proud to serve upon him and both respected and admired his captain but more the beast itself, Achilles being a fine example of a British heavyweight. Achilles formation partners didn't currently cut quite as dignified a vision, the trio of middleweight Yellow Reapers were full of the joy of victory and sped around Achilles calling congratulations to each other. The two smaller lightweights who normally minded the edges of the formation and were it's lookouts weren't quite as boisterous, the formation had fought hard to keep any help from materialising for the captured Chevalier and the smaller dragons looked tired but fortunately unhurt. Roberts clapped his hand to James' back in a congratulatory manner bringing his attention back to the Chevalier's much larger back. Goss was struggling in Paterson's grasp as the medic tried to attend to his injuries. Sobering quickly James followed Roberts to see what assistance they could render.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Halifax, Nova Scotia

December 1811

"Corporal James keep the pressure on the wound, private Roberts if you would be so kind as to hold his legs still…" Paterson's voice was calm as he ordered the marines to assist him. Quite how he could remain so stoic whilst trying to staunch the rapid flow of blood from Goss' leg whilst being buffeted by the wind several hundred feet up in the air on a dragon's back was a mystery to James. Goss' white breeches and the grey scales of the dragon beneath him were covered in blood already and his face was as pale as a sheet. To further complicate matters the Petit-Chevalier was flying rather erratically now, dropping altitude slowly and weaving from side to side occasionally. James braced himself against the motion and concentrated on pushing a wad of bandages above the wound attempting to keep the pressure constant as Paterson laboured on the wound. Thankfully as the medic worked Goss' legs began to stop thrashing and the blood flow from the gash in his leg seemed to slow noticeably, his breathing was still laboured and his eyes darted from his leg to each of their faces wide with terror though.

"Hold fast there Goss, we can't be far from the covert now" James tried to reassure him as Goss' eyes met his own.

"Roberts take over from the Corporal" Paterson looked up at James "I can finish sewing this up now he's calmed, please could you move forward and see what's causing this beast to lurch about so much" worryingly the medic's voice had a tinge of worry to it despite the apparent improvement in his patient so James stood up as soon Roberts' hands replaced his own. Slowly he made his way forward, he was careful not to move more than a few feet at a time before relatching his carabiner, one unexpected lurch from the dragon could quite easily have sent to his death below. As he moved forward the reason for the poor flying became clear, Lieutenant Davies was still stood behind the french captain with his pistol held ready but another frenchman who evidently must have been the surgeon on board was busy at the dragon's shoulder attempting to examine its ribcage. James could see from the way the dragon was breathing that something was dangerously wrong, the great chest was heaving like the bellows of a forge. The Chevalier hadn't been fully engaged in combat before being boarded and the flight back towards Halifax hadn't been made at any great pace which could have explained it's struggle for breath. Abruptly the surgeon pulled himself up and spoke to the captain in french making a hammering motion with his fist. The captain translated the speech for Davies benefit in heavily accented english.

"Sir, it is my surgeon's belief that the great blow your own beast delivered to Imperalus' flank has fractured several of his ribs and he will struggle to fly a long distance carrying such an injury". The captain's voice carried a strong tone of resentment but his face was wracked with worry and it seemed to James that Davies was sympathetic in his reply.

"It grieves me to see him struggle so Sir, but the covert isn't far. Do you think it likely he can make it or will we need to set down?". Davies hadn't bothered to describe where the covert was or how far away it remained, the course of the french formation when Achilles and his own formation had intercepted made it clear that the former had likely been on their way to raid the British settlement.

"He will make it sir, I have faith in him" the captain replied solemnly and Imperalus though rendered incapable of speech by the mix of pain and exhaustion seemed to give a great appreciative huff not unlike a horse at his captain's confidence. James was less confident but kept his opinion to himself, he didn't much fancy crash landing on an eighteen tonne dragon that was already distressed at its capture. The massive bulk of Achilles who was flying slightly above and behind the french dragon was reassuring though. Now he was closer James could see that he carried some minor injuries to his hide, from the shallowness the scratches must have been caused by the french lightweights darting attacks and thankfully didn't seem to be bothering the british dragon in the least. James turned his view back forwards, the town of Halifax could be seen faintly in the distance now and much closer he could now make out the covert that was their destination. The covert bore little resemblance to the ones he'd known in Britain, it had been chosen as a suitable site due to the large lake which steamed faintly in the cold air. The water was fed by hot springs and though dragon's weren't greatly affected by a bit of cold they didn't enjoy it either so the water provided some comfort to them. A large ridge ran for several miles along the northern boundary of the lake and it was on the land between lake and ridge that the buildings of the covert were located. Most of the landscape nearby was forested but a swathe had been cleared in this area. A large horseshoe shaped building fashioned from timber made up the bulk of the site containing barracks for both the marines and aviators, a few other log cabins and sheds were scattered around the fringes of the clearing as well containing the forges and armouries essential for outfitting a formation of dragons. There were no huge feeding pens full of cattle though which would have made up a large part of a european covert, food for the dragons was provided by the local Mi'kmaq tribe who used a pair of native lightweights to hunt from the vast herds of shaggy coated bison on the open plains. Each day they would deliver enough carcasses to satisfy the covert's dragons in return for money or occasionally weapons, ammunition and other goods. The dragons were now beginning their descent towards the covert though the captured Chevalier seemed to be sinking slowly more through exhaustion than design, James silently willed the dragon on casting his eyes once more over the rapidly closing distance between the covert and themselves.

Captain Barclay stood on his own outside the large timber barracks of his covert, though his hair had greyed he stood straight backed with his feet planted and hands clasped behind his back. The iron in his blue eyes was still evident as he watched the sky calmly for the return of his formation. Queerly he felt more at home with the formation out on manoeuvres, a captain without a dragon in a covert similarly shorn of its beasts. His position was a strange one, he'd been offered the chance to try for another egg back in Britain but he was no more willing to harness another dragon than he was to leave the Americas. Barclay had watched painfully and helplessly as Serratus, the mighty flagdragon of the Canadian based formations had passed away from the terrible dragon plague six years earlier. He would never captain another dragon and couldn't bring himself to leave the land that he'd made his home for over a decade with the brawny Parnassian. Equally the admiralty could ill afford to lose an officer with such an affinity for the land and whom had built the relationship with the local tribes that kept British dragons fed. The fact that no promising officers would desire to be posted to what was still an out the way colony with no real chance of battle and therefore promotion was also conveniently avoided by his staying. Barclay frowned at that thought, his early years on the continent with Serratus had been spent keeping fractious natives in line and providing a deterrent to any French warships that might otherwise have seen the British merchantmen trading from Halifax as ripe targets. Lately though he had come to believe that the fledgling United States would be a greater threat to British Canada, the turncoats grew increasingly belligerent and intelligence suggested growing diplomatic concourse with the French across the Atlantic. Such concerns had seen the posting of Achilles to the covert, Barclay hoped that Achilles status as the only heavyweight North of the Incan Empire would be a sufficient deterrent but he dreaded the news everyday that the big Chequered Nettle would be recalled to Britain as Napoleon seemed to increasingly strengthen his position in Europe. The native tribesman that had floundered into the covert earlier that morning upon his own small brown and red dappled dragon with the news that a group of dragons had crossed the border had evoked mixed feelings in Barclay. First fury, it was possible that the Americans had declared war, such was the distance to the covert in Upper Canada such a message might yet not have reached Halifax but clearly to strike before news had spread would be decidedly underhanded. Secondly suspicion, he could see no reason why the Americans would seek to test British aerial defences nearer to the coast when they knew full well they could not match Achilles bulk and prowess.

It was with some relief then that he cited the formation in the distance, although this quickly changed to concern as he noted the haphazard flying of the beast at the front, from it's size it could only be Achilles and clearly he had been wounded to fly so.

"Ground crews attend!". Barclay had spent years making his thickly accented Scottish voice heard from dragonback and his shout shattered the silence at the covert, almost immediately the ground crews and surgeons began to spill from the barracks and as they noted the formation's staggered approach shouts for bandages and other medical supplies began to be banded about. Satisfied that preparations at the covert were underway Barclay returned his gaze to the approaching dragons quickly counting to be certain no beast had been lost. It was with no little confusion that he reached the number seven, one too many at the same time he noted that Achilles was not wounded at all and if he wasn't mistaken the struggling dragon was a French Petit-Chevalier. It was clearly a great prize but what was it doing here in the first place?!

Considering it's distress the French dragon was able to land surprisingly gently, though it collapsed to lie on it's belly not long afterwards even as British surgeons arrived bandages in hand to assist. The French captain was already on the ground beside his dragon's head offering what comfort he could. The surgeons had quickly realised that bandages would be no use to the internal injury suffered and moved to assist the British dragons as they landed and were quickly swamped by the attentions of their ground crew, a single surgeon remained quietly at the French dragon's side pressing his ear to the beast's ribs. James and the other marines dismounted and after seeing Goss carried into the infirmary arranged themselves to one side with muskets in hand as the French crew, some score of men were escorted by more red coated marines to one side of the landing ground. The landing ground itself was a flurry of action, men everywhere as the aviators seeked to get into the barracks whilst their ground crew stripped the dragons of harness and attended to their mostly minor injuries. One by one the British dragons were left alone by their ground crews once suitably attended, several long piers formed from thick logs extended into the lake and it was on these that the dragons settled themselves, their captains staying long enough to ensure several bison carcasses had been delivered before heading inside themselves. The snow on the ground was but the first snowfall of the impending winter and the cold air only mildly uncomfortable compared to what was to come but still not pleasant for man or dragon to stay in without cause. James drew his greatcoat more tightly around him, along with some others he'd stayed outside to see how the Petit-Chevalier faired and had seen the British surgeon give what looked to be some promising news to the French captain.

"How does he fare?" the marines straightened as Captain Barclay approached.

"Dawson believes he will make it sir, though it will be some time before he is capable of flight" Achilles' Captain Way responded. James felt his heart soar faintly at this piece of good fortune, though not long ago their enemy the beast had laboured bravely to make it to the covert. The French captain was now leading his dragon to the lake where he was slowly settled on the shore and after offering a great deal of assurance to his dragon he was then himself led towards the officers mess by Davies and a pair of midwingmen looking back over his shoulder every few steps. His crew had already been moved inside, Barclay was an honourable officer so no doubt they'd not lack for comfort having offered no trouble in their capture. James began to move away himself, something warm to eat in the mess wouldn't go amiss, the last thing he heard from the two British captains as he walked away was Barclay's voicing of the question they all had in their heads.

"I think it about time we tried to ascertain exactly what a French heavyweight is doing flying this side of the border Captain Way". The two captains moved towards the officers mess, with the dragons now either eating or sleeping and the vast majority of the men gone to do the same inside the landing ground was now quiet again though both James and Barclay both privately thought that the skies above them would not long stay the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Halifax Covert, Nova Scotia

December 1811

Way paused outside the door to the officer's mess gesturing to Barclay that he'd be with him shortly. The warm air and glow of firelight emerging from the doorway was welcoming but he had one last duty to perform before he could head inside. Way's third lieutenant Hedges was one of the few men left in the landing ground, he was making his way across to the officer's mess from the infirmary which was situated in a large cabin near to the lake's shore. His face was grim and Way steeled himself to hear his news.

"Sir, the other captains took their own roll call upon landing, they lost a combined nine men, mostly from musket fire. There's another six in the infirmary". Way nodded in response, nine men across six dragons was better than he'd feared but it was the next part he was dreading.

"Our own losses were more severe, Lieutenant Daniels perished fighting during the boarding action along with marines Cross, Low and Jackson. Griggs and Thompson from the topmen and Clarke from the bellmen were killed by musket fire along with Private Jones from the marines. Private Goss is in the infirmary also with a gashed leg but no other wounded." The news hit Way like a blow, eight men from his crew of thirty two. He'd have to spend the evening writing letters to the families of those who had perished and despite the capture of so great a prize morale would take weeks to recover. That latter was something he could try and bring on immediately though despite feeling like doing nothing of the sort. Hedges was his youngest lieutenant and this had been his first action. The young man looked up at Way sadly.

"Thank you Hedges, you've done well. Now and during combat. Losing Daniels is hard, he was a good officer but you'll need to step up now and help me keep the crew's heads up. Whilst it doesn't feel like a great victory at the moment it's a rare event to capture a French beast of such stature. Have you informed Achilles of the men we lost yet?"

"No sir, I thought it best to let you know first" Hedges responded with a sad look towards the lake where Achilles bulk could still be made out in the fading light.

"Good, I'll see what this French captain has to say and then I will inform him myself".

"Will he take it hard sir?" Hedges was looking at him intently now, Way was quietly pleased to see the young officer so concerned for the dragon so gave an honest answer.

"Yes, he always does. We've served for thirteen years in Europe, India, Egypt and now America and every scratch, dent and scar on that great hide of his is the memento of a battle and we lost men in almost all of them. Achilles could list every man of his crew that's been lost if someone cared to ask." Hedges smiled sadly in return and Way let him go on his way before turning for the door. Hedges had only been assigned to Achilles upon their posting to Canada but likely he'd be beginning to understand the crew's loyalty and devotion to their dragon already.

Barclay took his seat opposite the French captain who had named himself Courtois and waited for Way to join him. The officer's mess was quiet, taking a prize like the Petit-Chevalier was a rare moment of success in what would usually have been a bleak and uneventful posting but for now the officers were too tired and still coming to terms with the loss of their comrades to celebrate. The officers sat huddled along the room's two long tables drinking tea or eating. Barclay and Courtois sat apart on a smaller table, Barclay wouldn't have objected to Courtois' officers dining with them but none had survived Imperalus' boarding and capture. The Frenchman himself sat subdued, he was an older man likely of a similar age to Barclay. His brown hair had turned mostly to grey and was tied behind his head and rather poorly for a gentlemen he looked like he hadn't shaved for several days. His uniform looked decidedly untidy but his manners had been impeccable as he thanked Barclay for seeing to his men and allowing his dragon the comfort of the shore beside the warm lake. There was a brief clatter at the door as Way entered, a rush of cold air flooded into the room and he moved quickly to slam the door shut again before removing his coat and making his way to the table. Courtois stirred himself quickly as Way sat.

"Sir, I must offer my gratitude for allowing Imperalus to land and offer my sympathy for the men you lost in our capture. I regret greatly that we offered you battle for what must seem no purpose".

"Thank you captain, I'd offer the same for your own crew too. I must confess though to being more than curious as to why a French heavyweight has strayed into our territory at all and especially from across the American border".

Courtois began to look anxious now and didn't immediately offer a response. His face though seemed to betray some internal battle as if he didn't quite know how to respond. Barclay was happy to wait and looking at Way it seemed that despite the rather intense cast to his gaze he was happy to wait also.

"Sirs please forgive my hesitancy, I'm rather at battle with my own sense of honour and quite unsure of exactly what course I've chosen here". Now Barclay and Way both leaned in. Barclay had expected the officer to be reticent about his purpose and unwilling to divulge any information that could threaten his nation's interests but it would seem he clearly wanted to tell them something.

"I should tell you a bit about myself I suppose, my family are rather an old and distinguished family" Courtois began to explain "Or were so anyway. As such I could only describe myself as a royalist and I've therefore been at a bit of a loose end since Bonaparte's revolution". Barclay listened to this last part with some interest, he'd wondered at the time of the revolution what would be become of the captains loyal to the deposed regime.

"Do you mean Sir that you came across our border as an émigré fleeing Bonaparte's tyranny? If so then coming across with a formation in tow and engaging us in battle is rather a strange way to signal your change of loyalties" this outburst came from Way and the heat in the words caused some of the other aviators to glance over in interest. Barclays glare swiftly diverted them back to their own business though.

"No sir". Courtois continued and seemed to focus and lose some of his fluster at Way's challenge adopting a more confident aire.

"Whether loyal to Bonaparte or not I could not question my loyalty to France and I would not turn my coat like some others. But equally I could not sit by idly whilst Imperalus was sent to this damned continent to be used as breeding stock". Both British captains faces evidently betrayed their shock at this statement for he carried on without prompt.

"Myself and several other captains who were similarly former royalists and all who captained heavyweight Petit-Chevaliers or Chanson-de-Guerres were sent here with the expertise of France's most experienced breeders". Courtois paused and looked at the two British captain's faces awaiting response. Barclay's head was spinning, he still couldn't fathom why this French officer had flown North but the illusion that Achilles was the only heavyweight either side of the border had just been shattered. He'd have to inform the admiralty as soon as possible but he'd need the full story first. Hesitantly he found his voice.

"Bonaparte has sent dragons to help the Americans establish their own heavyweight breeds?"

"Yes and they've succeeded in creating two distinct breeds, the Marbled Patriot and the Eastern Knight. Though I do not think they have more than a few of each and those are still young".

Barclay cringed inwardly at the names, he could guess from which French breeds the two would have derived. He knew that the American's had a plethora of light and middleweight dragons available to them and had begun to harness and crew them in the European style in contrast to the native americans whose dragons would only permit their captain aboard in battle. But the lack of a heavyweight had been their gaping weakness and if the French had bridged that gap in their forces for them...He shared a worried glance with Way to his left. If the Americans had introduced native dragon blood to these new breeds it was possible as well that they'd be well enough adapted to fight through the Canadian winter when the British dragons would be grounded around the lake due to the extreme cold and Britain forced to rely on their native allies and the efforts the Canadian militia had made with crewing a few middleweights resistant to the weather in the Toronto covert. With some effort Barclay tried to put his thoughts in order, he'd have to write to the admiralty of course, but there was the more immediate matter of the French captain's fate first.

"Captain Courtois, it would be churlish for us not to thank you for this intelligence but I must ask if you're not turning your back on France then why are you here and why are you divulging information vital to one of France's enemies?".

"In all honesty Sir I cannot justify my actions to you anymore than I can to myself. I knew only that I could not go on serving Bonaparte and I could not sit out Imperalus' prime years watching him used like a prize stud by the Americans." Courtois' eyes looked pained and he spoke softly. Captain Way however did not seem sympathetic as he responded.

"Captain as vital as your information might be I still fail to see what purpose crossing the border under arms and engaging with our forces served. Good men from both our crews perished in the skirmish for no reason!". Courtois sank further into his seat at this rebuke but was quick to explain himself.

"Sir when Imperalus took off I still had no notion of what action we were to carry out and if I speak truthfully then I do not see that my crew would have agreed to meekly surrendering to you regardless of my own feelings. No doubt they would believe I've committed treason but I strongly believe that Napoleon Bonaparte will drive France to the brink of oblivion and I hope my actions can be seen as a blow against his ambition and will to use the Americans rather than against my nation itself."

"I believe we've heard enough now Captain, regardless of your motives I am sure that Imperalus will be spending the next years of his life in our own breeding grounds whether it's those in Newfoundland or their equivalent back in Britain. No effort will be made to force his use as 'breeding stock' though and should you act honourably during your incarceration you both may pass the rest of the war in relative comfort. I would not like to guess what will happen to you following the conclusion to the current conflict though. Regardless of victor". Barclay spoke the last coldly and without sympathy, Courtois would likely find no welcome in France whether Bonaparte ruled or not if France lost the war and a French victory over Britain didn't bear thinking about. Despite this his heart rebelled too strongly to the notion of treason to offer any sympathy regardless of how vital Courtois' acts could be to British Canada. Courtois only nodded in acknowledgement, evidently these thoughts already weighed on his mind.

"Lieutenant Davies, please escort Captain Courtois to the quarters set aside from him and see that a guard is placed on the door". Davies rose from the table nearest their own and Courtois reluctantly followed him out of the room through a door leading deeper into the building. Barclay turned to Way and both men looked at each other glumly for several moments until finally Way broke the silence.

"John, if the American's can field their own heavyweights…"

Way left the rest unsaid, Barclay knew he'd willingly back Achilles against any other like sized beast but he couldn't fight two or three heavyweights and he couldn't defend the whole border by himself either.

"I know Arthur, the middleweights in the Upper Canada covert couldn't hold against a heavyweight and if what Courtois says is true, and we've no reason to ignore what he says then Achilles could be overwhelmed here in any case. There's also the rather worrying thought that they've crossbred them with natives. This will be your first winter in Canada Arthur, when the winter is upon us fully then the formation will not be able to fly. British dragons can put up with the cold if they need to but you won't be able to fly in it."

Way had no doubt been informed of this before, but his frustration was obvious, no doubt he envisaged Achilles grounded at the covert whilst the American's pushed Britain's forces back from the border unchallenged in the air.

"Have our own breeders accomplished no successes of our own?"

"We have a dozen or so Yellow Reaper crosses at the covert near Toronto in Upper Canada, they've shown some promise and can fly in the coldest weather but we've no heavyweights Arthur. Achilles is the first heavyweight to be posted here since...Serratus. And before that we've had nothing here since the revolution thirty years ago. Certainly the breeding grounds haven't received anything other than retired Reapers and lightweights." Barclay felt the familiar pang when mentioning Serratus but he ignored Way's sympathetic look and carried on.

"There will be a courier in a week, we will have to request more heavyweights for the warmer months and I'll write to General Brock at York, he's no fool. Whilst anyone can see the U.S has grown more hostile over the last few years he's about the only man who has been doing anything about it. I will see if we can get artillery support for the covert."

"John, Brock has a single regiment of regulars and the border's hundreds of miles long. If our aerial support has been negated surely the situation is hopeless?"

Barclay smiled.

"We'll do our duty Arthur, and hope to God that the admiralty see fit to send us enough men and guns to get through the winter and enough dragons to press the Americans in the summer". The fact that every man, beast and gun was desperately needed in Europe went unsaid.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Halifax covert, Nova Scotia

January 1812

The next weeks passed slowly for all those based at the covert. Most of James' time was filled with the usual and non exciting duties of any posting. Guard duty, endless bayonet and musket drills in the corner of the landing ground given over to such things and long route marches through the snow. The formation itself trained overhead, occasionally one of the dragons would take up some of the marines as part of their own drills and twice each week the entire formation went up and patrolled the nearby coastline but the frigid water of the Atlantic remained stubbornly empty of any French privateers as if to prolong the garrison's collective frustration. To make matters worse the covert's marines, aviators and even the dragons themselves were aflame with rumours, some of the officers had overheard parts of the French captain's interrogation and inevitably their whispers spread and grew in the telling. Roberts had it that the French were massing forces at Detroit in preparation of storming the border, another marine had been 'reliably informed' that the Americans had purchased an entire corps worth of heavyweight dragons from Japan and were themselves massing for invasion. James' had even overheard Achilles whispering loudly as only a dragon could to Captain Way whilst the marines dismounted following a patrol.

"At least it would break the tedium somewhat Arthur, Imperalus gave us little bother so I'm quite sure we could handle any number of his fellows". The dragon's confidence was comforting but Way's grunted response less so.

"Were we entering the Summer months I'd agree with you Achilles but how indeed do you plan to fly with frozen wings given the blasted winter we'll be enduring shortly?" The glare that followed in the direction of the lingering marines and crew had quickly ruled out any further inadvertent eavesdropping. James had wondered at his response though, by now the snow was falling in earnest and if the temperature dropped any further the British dragons would be grounded until the spring due to the danger of ice forming on their wings during flight. Any French dragons, real or imagined would be equally limited, and any force of smaller native beasts adapted for the weather would be countered by the British covert near Toronto where the Ghost Reapers were stationed. The other marines had been equally worried when he shared what he'd heard that evening but Paterson's view that aviators just became short tempered when unable to fly went down reasonably well and prevented any further worry.

Imperalus remained grounded by his injury but under supervision by the British surgeons he was allowed to practice the furling and unfurling of his wings daily to help the recovery of the muscles around the injured ribs. Twice a day Courtois was allowed to speak to his dragon and both captain and dragon's heads drooped constantly between these brief meetings. The rest of the french crew had already been sent to Halifax to be put on the next ship to England and likely some prison somewhere. James had no notion of what sort of prison Imperalus would be transported to when recovered but judging by the aviators mention of breeding grounds perhaps it wouldn't be all bad. News on that score was eagerly awaited by most at the covert, the last courier had taken dispatches containing Barclay's reports a week after Imperalus capture before Christmas and Barclay expected the courier to be able make the return journey back from Britain before the freezing cold closed the sky to them.

The snow had fallen more heavily now and the land around the covert was thickly covered, the dragon's huddled around the lake casting envious looks at the native dragons who delivered their dinner each day. The native beasts were lightweights with pale grey hides crossed sparingly with dark red stripes. Their hides and scales were thicker than those of the British dragons and their wings focused blood flow along the edges rather than the membranes minimising heat loss whilst preventing ice from building up along the edge and fouling their flight. Several of the surgeons were fascinated by the dragons and after receiving permission from the bemused natives to examine them reported back their narrow nasal passages and the transparent second eyelid that allowed them to see through the snowfall in rough weather. Barclay had heard this all before from the breeders in Newfoundland who were so desperate to merge these traits with the strengths of European dragons, he assured the surgeons they'd likely get to see the British Canadian Ghost Reapers that were the sole success of the breeders before they left the continent. Secretly though he dreaded the thought that the Americans had already exceeded that single success.

Another week passed with no news from Britain but General Brock's response came finally via a native courier. Much as Barclay had expected Brock counselled caution until they had more substantial proof but assured Barclay he'd add his own voice to Barclay's desire for aerial reinforcements and promised to authorise the fortification of both coverts with artillery and pepper gun emplacements when the weather allowed their construction. He went on to detail his own efforts at raising and drilling the Canadian militia and fortifying the border. Bar a short mention of the militias crewing of two native dragons now based at the Toronto covert this didn't interest Barclay a great deal, the border was ill equipped to deal with assault from heavyweight dragons regardless of anything Brock could do.

Finally then just when Barclay had given up hope of a courier being able to get through a flustered, shivering Greyling struggled into the covert, sending up a great flurry of snow as it landed poorly in the clearing. Barclay heard the commotion instantly and was out of the mess and running towards the dismounting Captain before the man had even set foot on North American soil.

"Captain Meyers! I'm glad to see you!". Meyers wasn't in a great deal better shape than his dragon but he smiled and shook Barclay's hand warmly.

"It's good to see you John, I'm sure you don't want to stay outside any longer than you have to, can your ground crews manage some food for Finitus? We're bound for the West Indies next and I want to be heading South before we get grounded here". Barclay was somewhat amazed the Greyling was able to fly at all but then again they did have Grey Widowmaker blood so perhaps he shouldn't underestimate the breed's endurance.

"Of course. Finitus drag yourself over to the lake besides those other beasts and someone will bring you something to eat". At the mention of food the dragon's stance lost some of it's weariness and he began to amble towards the lake without hesitation shouting loudly about cows to Achilles and the other dragons. Barclay and Meyers made their way through the snow towards Barclay's office, on the way Mayers separated out the letters for the Captains and their crews, handing them on to Captain Rashworth of the Yellow Reaper Rycarnus. When they'd entered Barclay's office Meyers only had a single letter left and he handed it over as he began to strip off some of the layers he'd packed on to make it through the cold. Barclay turned the letter over slowly, he'd waited weeks for the Admiralty to reply but now he had the letter he was dreading what it would say. With a deep breath he broke the seal and scanned the page. As he read his head began to drop and upon finishing he sank back into a chair and put his head in his hands.

"A dragon transport will arrive at Halifax in time to coincide with the arrival of Spring. Achilles, yourself and the whole formation will embark whereupon you will be transported directly to the Portuguese coast with the intention of reinforcing General Wellesley and supporting his opening of a second front against Napoleon in Europe". As Barclay finished Way's face displayed the same shock and dismay which had no doubt riven his own an hour before at the news.

"Sir...who will be replacing us here?" he managed slowly. Barclay sympathised with him, supporting Britain's most successful General in the peninsular campaign was a good posting but likely he felt guilty to be abandoning the place he knew Barclay had planned for him with Brock in their strategy to defend Canada, he'd feel worse shortly Barclay thought sadly.

"Nobody will be replacing you Arthur. Napoleon's position in Europe has grown almost untouchable, every British dragon will be required either to defend the channel in the event of his invasion or in Spain where the only signs of any success against him can be found, Admiral Roland is adamant that the colonies will have to fend for themselves". Barclay kept his voice calm and repeated the orders almost exactly as they'd been written, seeking to keep the anguish he felt from his outward appearance. Way was likewise struggling and his voice was angry when he replied.

"I understand that but surely given the news we passed to the admiralty they can see the folly of pulling our aerial presence from the continent? And if Bonaparte has seen fit to help the Americans then any victory for them surely helps his own cause also. And what about the West Indies and India?!".

Barclay smiled coldly at this last part.

"I suspect in all honesty that despite Roland's words some force might be left in both those places Arthur, the French have tried before for the "jewel of the empire" afterall but unfortunately Canada isn't quite as rich or prestigious a prize. In short I think the admiralty believe the colony expendable. And Achilles is a prime fighting heavyweight and his formation an experienced and formidable one. Roland evidently believes you're too important to be left defending a backwater"

"Balanced against the threat of another invasion then perhaps the colony isn't as important" Way was cooler now, his soldiers brain taking over, Barclay knew he'd fought in Britain and buried his men during the last invasion so didn't disagree.

"Then you should return with us John, your experience would be vital even if you still refuse to harness another dragon, don't waste your life here if there's no hope of holding".

"I thank you for the sentiment friend but Brock has been planning to defend the colonies with a meagre force of infantry and guns so I will do the same with what dragons I do have"

"Come on John, I know you're stubborn and you don't want to leave but holding both provinces with a dozen half native middleweights?" Way's eyebrows rose alarmingly towards his hairline as his voice rose in volume to match.

"There's the dozen Ghost Reapers yes. I'll move four here along with the two natives the militia have crewed. I'm going to move down to the Toronto covert myself and oversee the training of the other nine, that's where the blow will come if it does. I have a plan for them and Brock has been working on recruiting the natives to our cause so we'll have lightweights and couriers for support".

"You'll need a pretty impressive plan John if the Americans have half as many heavyweights as Courtois claimed…"

"Yes. And I'll need your help before you go my friend. The Reapers only have skeleton crews. They've been harnessed by their captains obviously but between the twelve they only have about thirty flight crew. If your formation can spare any men then I'd be grateful."

"John if the admiralty have given up on the continent, and I understand why you can't do the same I do but can I order my men to stay here given the situation?".

"I realise it's a lot to ask but trust me. Ask for volunteers, anyone who can be spared will help. Especially the marines, I'll need them to help train boarding parties".

"Brock's spared you some infantry then? Or you're mad enough to put militia on a dragon's back!"

"No Arthur, the Admiralty have abandoned me so I will look for other strength from the land itself. I'm going to put First Nation warriors on the back of those dragons, and then between us we will show the French, the Americans and anyone else that British Canada will not be an easy prize to take".


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Frenchtown, Michigan Territory

January 1813

James kept his eyes screwed shut and hunched himself down as close to the dragon underneath him as possible. He'd tried earlier to glance ahead and get some idea of how much longer they would be flying but the freezing torrent of snow and the wind had been enough to discourage any further attempts, he'd just made out the captain and the back of the dragon's head but anything else was obscured by a white wall. Even hunched into as small a ball as he could manage the frigid wind was tugging at his greatcoat and trying to wrench the musket from his arms. A year ago James would scarcely have imagined that any dragon could fly in the blizzard like conditions they were currently enveloped in but that was before he'd volunteered to help man the Ghost Reapers instead of sailing for the Spanish peninsular with Achilles. Looking out from the side of Velaparus there was the occasional glimpse of other large flying shapes in the snow. The Ghost Reapers were a mix of Yellow Reaper and hardy native breeds, all six of the formation were good sized middleweights, they had retained their British progenitor's white stripes but lost the yellow in favour of a bland native gray. Coupled with the transparent second eyelid that allowed them to see through heavy snowfall and other adaptations they were ideally suited for the rugged warfare the American's had invoked the year before with their declaration of war.

Up ahead Velaparus shouted something to his Captain that James couldn't make out, the Captain turned and passed the message along for the benefit of his crew, he had to bellow to be made out over the wind and James doubted anyone further back than himself heard even so.

"Less than a minute!".

James passed the message on again and then readied himself as best he could. His legs were numb but he pushed himself up into a crouch and braced himself against the wind, he then brought the musket up against his shoulder and cocked it in preparation to fire. He'd only be able to get one shot off, there would be no chance of reloading and keeping his powder dry in the blizzard so his bayonet was already fitted. He paused a moment listening to the faint noises behind as the rest of the crew prepared themselves then feeling Velaparus' begin to slow he looked up.

With the dragon slowing the air resistance lessened and James was able to look into the blizzard ahead, they were near the ground no further than thirty feet in the air and as the dragon slowed further he began to be able to make out the shape of canvas tents in the snow and here and there he could the weak glow of a fire that the Americans must have dug out hollows to protect. James couldn't fathom how the dragon had found the camp in the middle of this blizzard but no alarm was raised even as Velaparus slammed to the ground crushing a tent underneath his great bulk. The dragon raised his head and roared loudly enough that the wind's own roar was temporarily forgotten. The dragon's roar seemed to go on and on but as he finished there was a second of almost stunned silence before all hell broke loose in the camp. American soldiers in the dark blue of regulars began to stagger from their tents, they were ill prepared and there were far more screams than gunshots ringing out as Velaparus lowered himself as low to the ground as he could manage. This was the signal James had been waiting for, bringing his musket up and aiming at the closest cluster of Americans he took a deep breath before shouting.

"Volley!"

He pulled the trigger at the same time as a dozen others behind him, the musket kicked back and the sound of the volley cracked into the snow filled sky. Several Americans were hit and dropped to the floor, the wounded added their own cries to the confusion of the panicked camp as the snow was scattered with red blood. James didn't know if his own shot had found it's mark such was the crush of soldiers trying to get away from the dragon but he didn't waste any time looking, undoing his carabiners he jumped to the ground. The snow cushioned his landing and he heard the heavy fall of boots all around him as the rest of the crew dropped down from Velaparus. He took another breath ready to order the advance but it turned out there was no need. A full two dozen Iroquois warriors streamed forwards, they'd left their guns on the dragon and went forwards waving tomahawks and screaming at the top of their voices. If the sudden arrival of a fifteen tonne dragon and the volley of musket fire hadn't of been enough to set the camp to panic then the terrifying advance and war cries of the Indian warriors certainly did the job. Some of the Americans tried to flee through the snow, others tried to fight but most hadn't loaded their weapons and in hand to hand combat were no match for the ferocity of the Indians. James began to follow the warriors into the camp sparing a quick glance back and raised hand to acknowledge the now crewless Velaparus who leapt into the air with another roar disappearing into the snow above almost instantly. He felt a momentary sympathy for the Americans and silently congratulated whomever had so well named the new breed of dragon. There was the sound of musket fire from all directions now and James made out the sound of other roaring dragons from other locations in the camp as they deposited their own parties before leaping back into the air. Ahead the warriors were flowing through gaps in the tents hacking down everyone in their path, James followed as quickly as he could pausing only to harangue the Iroquois who had stopped to try and scalp their victims. Whilst he didn't like the practice at the best of times the plan of assault called for as much haste as possible. As he pushed through the snow he had to step over the battered bodies of the American regulars, the wounded still cried and whimpered where they'd been struck down, spared the Indian's normal ruthlessness only by the importance of their mission. James only job was to keep the Indians moving in the right direction, they took care of any scattered resistance themselves. The American camp was full chaos now, some officers attempted to gather groups of men to resist the assault but the air was full of Indian howls and cries from all directions and the panicked soldiers evidently imagined a horde of thousands descending on them in the blizzard. The regulars were routing in all directions, crashing into each other as they ran from the separated Iroquois war parties, to the West where the militia had been encamped it even looked like the Indians had succeeded in firing some of the tents as there was a growing orange glow even through the falling snow. James strode on entering a clearing which he surmised must have been the centre of the camp. A group of regulars were attempting to form a square in the clear area but his own war party had been joined by another and were hacking into it from two sides. For the first time he felt a flash of worry, there must have been a hundred soldiers in the clearing with more arriving all the time, if they realised their own superiority in numbers then the Iroquois could be trapped and the momentum of their assault reversed. Bellowing for the Indians to follow he ran past the square of soldiers and charged the men attempting to enter the clearing from between tents in the North. The first man he charged wore no greatcoat and didn't even try to fire his musket as James approached. He seemed half terrified at no doubt being woken from his sleep by screaming, gunfire and the roar of dragons but equally there was relief on his face that it was a white man approaching not a savage Indian warrior. The relief was short lived as James rammed his musket forward impaling the regular in the chest with his bayonet. Blood gushed down the length of the musket as he pulled it back out and the American fell back into the snow gurgling. Another regular stepped forwards and swung his musket like a club at James who ducked just in time to avoid getting his head cracked open. Then fortunately the Iroquois were there at his back, they'd followed his advance leaving the square to follow James and fall on the soldiers he had charged. James was breathing heavily now and he said a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that the Indians had for once followed him rather than continuing their bloody slaughter. Then it was on again through the tents towards the other side of the camp. As they advanced the amount of Americans in front of them lessened, they'd no doubt either made it back into the heart of the camp or took their chances in the snow outside. The natives swarmed over any stragglers before following James further out from the camp. James was out of breath now, his breath misted the air in front as he pushed through the snow. The sounds of gunfire and slaughter gradually lessened as they moved on, a quick glance back and the camp had disappeared behind a swirling white wall. The assault through the camp had lasted minutes but now in the relative safety on the other side the adrenalin had stopped pumping and the sudden relief that they'd got through with barely a pause struck James. He'd worried for days that the Americans would predict they were coming, that they'd be lined up in ranks ready to drop the dragons and their crews from the sky as they came through the snow. With a tired smile he joined the Indians in their cheering, the warriors redoubled their own shouts at seeing their normally taciturn white officer showing some passion. Leadership didn't suit the anxious young corporal but the assault had gone well regardless so James let the tension go.

A couple of hundred yards from the camp great dark shapes appeared through the snow, as James and the warriors pushed on the shapes resolved into the six Ghost Reaper dragons that had dropped them off on the other side of the camp. A dozen British marines were stood in front and the relief on their faces was clear as the war parties returned. James turned as he joined them, bending down with his hands on his knees to catch his breath he watched the warriors stream past leaping back onto the dragons who greeted them excitedly themselves.

"It doesn't look like you lost many men Corporal". Sergeant Jenkins the highest ranking marine that had stayed on the continent clapped James on the back. James had been thinking the same thing. Each of the six beasts had dropped two dozen Iroquois warriors into the camp at different locations and though many of the warriors jogging past carried minor wounds it looked like well over a hundred had made it back.

"Aye, they weren't prepared at all Sergeant, the Indians swept through the camp like a hot knife through butter" James responded as he got his breath. Roberts who had led another of the parties through a separate part of the camp joined them now, he was grinning madly.

"You look pleased with yourself" Jenkins greeted him.

"The Western side of the camp was where they had the militia camped, carnage lads. It was absolute carnage, they were firing at any shape in the snow and I'll wager they killed more of their own than we managed ourselves!". Jenkins laughed. James couldn't bring himself to smile as he'd seen exactly how brutal the carnage that the Iroquois could wreak was, but he joined the congratulations as Roberts had helped Captain Barclay with the plan to deploy from the dragons at night into the camp. As they'd been speaking a few straggling Indians made their way best and finally when the stream of warriors seemed to have dried up the group of marines made their own way back to the dragons, mounting quickly so the dragons could take off and leave the American camp to lick its wounds. James took one last glance back after the dragon had launched itself into the air, he could see nothing but snow and he quietly thanked the weather that allowed Barclay's plan to pass without a hitch. The Americans had started the war the previous year and so far even though their vaunted new heavyweight breeds hadn't stirred since driving General Brock and his army back out of Detroit the weight of numbers the Americans could bring to bear had pushed British forces back in Upper Canada. Barclay's unorthodox tactics though might just be enough to turn the tide James thought.


	6. Appendix

Appendix

North American Dragon Breeds

Native Northern Breeds - Canada and the Northern United States is home to a wide range of dragons in terms of size, temperament and appearance. The indigenous native American population consider dragons as valuable members of their societies and have never engaged in organised breeding, therefore nothing resembling a typical breed exists on the continent. Despite plentiful food, in particular the vast bison hordes of the North American plains dragons any larger than large middleweights are also extremely rare, in fact it is believed that no heavyweight exists north of the Incan empire. Native dragons do however have many adaptations that could make them desirable to European breeders. Most famously North American dragons are renowned for their fierceness and willingness to fight, in addition most dragons are much better adapted for extreme weather conditions than their European counterparts. Dragons living on either side of the U.S/Upper Canadian border exhibit cold weather adaptations such as pale colouring for camouflage, narrower nostrils and thicker scales to retain heat, double layered eyelids to improve vision during heavy snowfall and greater blood flow to the wing edges rather than membranes to minimise heat loss from the larger area whilst preventing ice buildup on the edge.

Marbled Patriot - The pride of the fledgling United States Aerial Corps, the Marbled Patriot is the result of a breeding program devised with the assistance of french breeders and their Chanson-de-Guerre. The aim of the program was to produce a breed approaching the size of a European heavyweight but with the hardiness and ferocity of the dragons native to North America. The result is a decent sized heavyweight of 20-22 tonnes with the marbled yellow and brown colouration of it's French progenitor and the constitution, ferocity and heavy, swept back horns from the native side of its parentage. The breed is therefore able to both fight through the cold winters that ground European dragons and outfight the smaller native dragons that can defy the low temperatures and harsh weather.

Eastern Knight - Another breed produced with French assistance, the Eastern Knight was bred by mixing French Petit-Chevaliers with a rare venomous native middleweight. Grey with brown streaked wings, the Eastern Knight is small for a heavyweight with a top weight of 20 tonnes and a minimum of 16 which sees the smaller examples dropping into the middleweight range. The danger of the breed regardless of size shouldn't be underrated however as its defining ability is the venomous bite inherited from its native parent which will kill a man instantly and cripple a dragon. Like the Marbled Patriot this breed is equally able to withstand the bitter cold of Northern Winters.

Ghost Reaper - Breeders in British Canada have so far been unable to produce a Canadian heavyweight breed due to the difficulty in moving British heavyweights to the continent whilst they are so desperately required at home. They have however had some success breeding the more expendable British Yellow Reaper with the best native middleweights available. The resulting Ghost Reaper has retained the white stripes of the Yellow Reaper but lost the yellow in favour of the pale grey common amongst native Canadian dragons and weighs in between a range of 13-16 tonnes. No other recognised breed is as mildly affected by cold weather conditions and the Ghost was inadvertently named so by British infantrymen for its disconcerting ability to appear from the midst of blizzards when even native dragons would be grounded.


End file.
